The Abyss
by ShaileeSue
Summary: Both House and Cuddy are perched dangerously on the edge, constantly wary of their feelings for each other. But, will an unexpected event force them to tumble head first into the abyss and finally admit what they've been denying for way too long? HUDDY!
1. Chapter 1

_I do not own House or any of it's characters.... although if David Shore was feeling generous, I wouldn't object... _The click clack of her heels against the tile floor is a tell-tale sign of her presence. An announcement of what is to come.

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Although whether I should expect the fiery eyes and rapid-fire retorts that betray her anger, even when she is struggling to keep it in check, or the wrinkled forehead and exhausted eye roll that are to be expected when she is too tired, stressed, or exasperated to put up with my childish antics - I'm not yet sure.

The door opens almost silently and the barely-detectable scent of her perfume wafts through the room, another announcement in case anyone was too oblivious to have heard the rhythmic clacking of her heels. I can't quite identify the scent - not that I truly spend much time trying - it is pleasant and subtle, elegant and sexy, mysterious and elusive, and somehow completely, and utterly her.

She doesn't announce her presence, nor do I look up to acknowledge it in anyway what-so-ever, and yet we are acutely aware of each other. I feel her blue-grey eyes on my back as I stare silently out the window. As usual I wonder what she is thinking.

And she knows that I am distracted, annoyed, and lost in speculative mullings over my latest case and the vast and apparently unconnected array of symptoms that has so far eluded any possible diagnosis and returned negative results to every test and treatment.

"How is she?" she finally asks, her voice seeming to echo loudly through the silence of my office, although it is no louder than normal. Her concern for the patient is not unusual, although her stopping by my office for no other reason than to express it, is.

"Dying," I reply without turning away from the window. My voice holds no emotion.

I don't need to look at her to know that she's now studying the whiteboard and the various symptoms and possible (although admittedly unlikely) diagnosisis scrawled in numerous colors in my somewhat disjoined handwriting. Curious, but not truely searching for answers, because she doesn't believe that she'll come up with anything i have yet to think of. Not that she'd ever admit that if i had bothered to voice such an observation.

"Do you have any idea why?" she asks softly although she already knows the answer. If I had even the slightest clue about the reason behind the disjointed symptoms, any kind of epiphany about whatever was currently sucking the life from the twenty-two year old college student in the ICU, I would have already stormed through the clinic, making as much of a disturbance as possible, and then into her office to fight for some completely insane, dangerous, and more-than-likely unethical treatment.

She'd have refused and without so much of a second thought I'd have treated the patient anyway, devising whatever clever and manipulative plan needed to do so.

It is comforting in an inexplicable way. The authority or lack there of that she constantly holds over me in the misguided hope that I might someday obey her, and the cunning and ever-clever schemes I devise to circumvent that authority, simply for the pleasure of seeing the look on her face when she discovers whatever I had done.

It is out pattern. It always has been. The never-ending repetition that allows us to get close enough to toss witty comments and secret smiles at each other, while at the same time keeping us just far enough away from the danger of saying or doing something that we can't take back. Just far enough to keep us from tumbling blindly into dark abyss that seemed to loom between us. Just far enough to keep us from truely admitting anything.

Occasionally one of us - usually her - will summon up enough courage to take a chance and tiptoe closer, barely managing to keep our balance. But we haven't fallen, although admittedly both of us are perched very carefully on the edge.

"House," she snaps, the strained patience in her voice revealing that it probably wasn't the first time she's said my name.

"No," I say softly, still facing the window with my back to her. "I don't know what's wrong with her," I continue, allowing my mind to switch back to uselessly listing symptoms.

"Why are you here?" I ask after she'd been silent for several minutes. She doesn't reply.

"Why are you here?" I ask again, turning slowly to face her.

She looks confused, maybe even embarrassed. Her blue eyes are wide and trained on the floor. Her arms are crossed in front of her, wrinkling the sleeves of her black blouse. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth and her forehead is wrinkled as though in concentration.

After a moment she looks up at me from beneath her lashes, and opens her mouth slightly as though trying to decide how best to phrase what she's been thinking.

"I need your help," she says after a moment, and her tone of voice makes it clear that it isn't an order. Not a demand from an administrator to an employee. Not a polite request from coworker to coworker, but rather a favor from someone she considers a friend.

I'm not sure how I feel about that exactly. I'm not the person people come to for help, unless it's a diagnostic problem. I say nothing. I simply stare at her and wait for her to continue.

She draws in a deep breath through her nose as though frustrated or exhausted by the effort of asking for something she needs, and it occurs to me that Cuddy rarely asks for anything.

She orders or demands, or manipulates a request so that you find yourself agreeing without argument to something you're not at all sure you want to do - a skill that has proved its worth when it comes to patients, interns, and donors - but has never had much effect on me. However she rarely outright asks for anything, and she almost never admits that she needs help, no matter how much trouble she's in.

She lets the breath out in a quick whoosh of air that flutters her bangs, and finally meets my gaze.

"I…" she begins, and then shakes her head softly, as though freeing herself from unwanted thoughts, "It would be better if I showed you," she says and glances at me through hopeful blue-grey eyes as she waits for my response.

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Reviews make me happy.... and I can't write more if i'm sad..... Thanks for reading. =)


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks so much for reading. I'd love to know what you think.

Oh.... Again: I do not own House, I'm merely borrowing for my own amusement.

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_"I…" she begins, and then shakes her head softly, as though freeing herself from unwanted thoughts, "It would be better if I showed you," she says and glances at me through hopeful blue-grey eyes as she waits for my response._

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"I have a patient," I replied dismissively, glancing over at the scribbled symptoms on the whiteboard.

"That's not an answer," she points out softly, still staring at me, and although the hope in her eyes has dimmed, I know that she hasn't given up yet. "That's an evasion."

She's right. I shrug, feigning nonchalance, despite the fact that her persistence has peaked my curiosity.

"Sure whatever you need, I'll just let Linda die," I shoot back in an obnoxiously eager-to-please tone that's dripping with undisguised sarcasm.

"Her name is Lydia," she corrects me softly, "And you're team can handle it. Pull in Chase and Cameron if you really need to. But I think you need to hear this," she continues, once again refusing to meet my eyes.

I shrug again, as though it doesn't matter, but her willingness to let me have whatever I need is intriguingly uncharacteristic. After another moment of silence, I limp toward the door and after a brief moment, she follows. I let the glass door swing closed behind me, and she throws out her arm to stop it before it slams into her face.

I smile as I feel her blue-grey eyes on my back again, this time narrowed in her famous "Death Glare." It always surprises me that such a glare doesn't cause some kind of physical pain. It seems as though it should at the very least leave an uncomfortable tingling sensation. Her heels click quietly as she steps up beside me, the slight stall in her step betraying that she is purposely walking more slowly than she would like, although whether it is in order to keep pace with me, or some kind of attempt to hide the annoyance that her face so clearly radiates, I don't know yet.

I stop before the elevator, and jab the down button with the end of my cane, tapping my sneaker against the floor impatiently. After a moment I turn to face her, studying her face for a second, before dropping my eyes to the cleavage that her undoubtedly-expensive black blouse does very little to conceal.

"House," she snaps, the usual bite returning to her voice, "stop staring at my chest." she crosses her arms over her breasts, effectively blocking the very enjoyable view. I scrunch my face into a childlike grimace and stick my tongue out at her.

Nothing like resorting to the antics of a six-year-old. She rolls her eyes in feigned exasperation, and sighs softly, trying hard to hide the way her lips turn slightly up at the corners.

The ding of the elevator rings loudly through the hallway and I turn and shove my way on, pushing several doctors and a med student or two into each other as I do so.

Cuddy follows me into the elevator, alternating between mumbled apologies to the elevators other occupants for my juvenile behavior, and glaring warningly at me in the futile hope that I'll at least temporarily behave.

I send her a beaming grin, effectively conveying the same message as sticking my thumbs in my ears while wiggling my other fingers in the air and singing "na na na na na," in an annoying voice.

Based on the way her brow creases in barely restrained anger and her eyes spark, I'm pretty sure I get my message across.

We step off the elevator and into the ear-splitting noise and head-spinning chaos of the clinic. Two young boys, no older than nine or ten are chasing each other through the waiting area, hollering like hooligans as they jump over tables and scramble under chairs, leaving a trail of plastic coffee cups, outdated magazines, and annoyed people scattered in their wake, while their mother shouts at them to slow down and shut up, between mumbled words into the cell phone glued to her right ear.

Another woman stands at the nurse's station, with a baby perched on her hip and a toddler of undetermined sex clinging to her pant leg. Both of them screaming as though in fear of their lives. A teenager with shaggy hair and bloodshot eyes is shaking his head wildly from side to side and silently screaming the words to whatever heavy metal song is blasting from the headphones in his ears, his behavior eerily reminiscinant of an epileptic seizure. An elderly man sits in the corner and sounds as though he could at any moment cough up one of his lungs, or some other unfortunate organ.

Nurses in pink and green scrubs race around handing out files and exchanging test results, documenting who's been seen and who hasn't, updating charts, and arguing about insurance coverage. Doctors in long white lab coats come and go from exam rooms, walking as though in a hurry to see their next patient, or possibly just a hurry to get the hell out of this place. I can't blame them.

I follow Cuddy as she strides toward her office. She smiles at the nurses and retrieves a green lollipop from the bowl on the counter and hands it gently to the young girl who has been struggling to reach it.

I roll my eyes. And snatch a red one from the bowl before the blonde haired little boy with his gap-tooth smile has the chance to reach for it.

"Dr. Cuddy," One of the nurses calls out, as she rushes toward us, her red hair is pulled back into a ponytail that swings from side to side with every step, and her blue eyes are wide, although whether in annoyance or amazement I'm not sure.

Cuddy turns to smile at her, every trace of her annoyance with me and my earlier elevator stunt has miraculously vanished. It is interesting to see how quickly Cuddy can change when she wants to.

"Yes Cindy?" she asks politely, stopping to talk to the young woman as though she was the most important person in the world.

"We're short a doctor down here today and things are really busy," she explains hurriedly, as though afraid that Cuddy might blame her for the clinic's popularity.

"Who is scheduled to work today?" Cuddy asks briskly, switching immediately from friend and coworker to doctor and administrator.

For once it isn't me. Not that I'd be here if it was, I'd be hiding out in the nurse's lounge, Wilson's office, the ER, or Coma Guy's room - dependant upon wherever Cuddy was the least likely to find me.

"Dr. Howard," Cindy replies as she twirls a strand of hair that has escaped from her bouncy ponytail around her finger.

"Call Dr. Foster down here then," Cuddy requested, "I'm sure she'll be happy to help, and if for any reason she's busy, please ask Brenda to find someone. I'm sure you can work it out," Cuddy replies, her voice assuring the insecure nurse that she has the utmost confidence in her.

She passes the nurse's station and taps Nurse Brenda on the arm gently, "Brenda," she says softly, "Unless there's an emergency, I'm not here," she pulls away and continues toward her office. She's between assistants at the moment, a fact I know she takes every opportunity to blame me for, although it isn't my fault.

_Okay_, I mentally correct myself, _It is my fault, but by now she should know better than to pick wimps for assistants. _

She holds her office door open, and I limp in after her and drop into a chair across from her desk. She closes the blinds and then turns toward me.

Her confident 'Dean of Medicine' façade is gone now. She looks tired, and ill. Her skin is pale and the dark circles beneath her eyes that aren't quite covered by her carefully-applied concealer, stand out like shadows in the sunlight.

She rubs her hands over her face, and I swallow the comment I was about to make about her appearance. She walks over and drops into her chair, and I can't help but notice the way she rests one hand lovingly on the desktop.

She reaches toward her phone and clicks the button on her private answering machine.

" I was out to lunch. I haven't called him back yet. I wanted you to hear it first," she explains as a unfamiliar voice, slightly distorted by the machine rings through the office.

"_Dr. Cuddy, This is Dr. Gerald Harper from Princeton General Hospital. I'm sorry to call you on your personal line, but this seemed very important. A woman was brought into our ER yesterday. She was in very bad condition. We don't know exactly happened because she's in and out of consciousness, She was attacked. She has severe lacerations, and several broken bones. Her heart rate is very unstable and she's suffering from internal bleeding. We rushed her to surgery, and right before we knocked her out for the procedure she told us that her name was Austyn Shore, and she asked for you. She's very ill, and if you have any information that could help, Please let me know. Thank you." _

The message ended, and Cuddy reached out to turn off the machine. For a long moment neither of us spoke.

"Austyn?" I ask after a moment, and I am surprised at the softness of my voice.

Cuddy nods slowly and I feel her blue-grey eyes silently pleading me to agree to help.

I don't answer her unspoken pleas. I haven't heard from or spoken to Austyn Shore since college, and the last time we had seen each other it had been a far from pleasant experience.

I nod my head once, silently agreeing to her pleas, as memories of the pretty brunette woman who had been like Cuddy's sister throughout our college years come rushing back.

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Thoughts? Comments? Sugestions? Questions? Favorite (or least favorite) parts?..... Leave me a review and let me know what you think.


	3. Chapter 3

**Authors Note: First I want to say thanks to everyone who's reading or review or both. Second, updates may take a little longer for the next couple of weeks since i'm dealing with EOIs (End of Instruction) tests, and finals as well as all of the usual stuff. As usual.... I'd love to know what you think.**

**Disclaimer: despite numerous maniacle plots, failed negotiations, and temper tantrums.... I still don't own House.**

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_I nod my head once as memories of the pretty brunette woman who had been like Cuddy's sister throughout our college years come rushing back. _

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Walks_ is not an accurate description I think to myself as I watch the young energetic brunette a few steps ahead of me. _bounces_, _dances_, or _skips_ are a mere few of the more fitting adjectives that come to mind._

_Austyn Shore does not walk like a normal person. Actually, come to think of it, Austyn Shore does not do anything like a normal person. She is young and pretty with long, wavy light brown hair, sharp pixie-like features, and an insane amount of energy. She is disorganized and cocky, impulsive and exciting, as well as daring and determined._

_I've never thought of her romantically, even though she is quite pretty in a skinny, angular sort of way. However, between Austyn and Lisa I always have at least one partner for the verbal sparing matches that all three of us secretly enjoy. _

"_Greg," _

_I instinctively glance around at the sound of my name and find myself staring down into familiar blue-grey eyes, sparkling with mild amusement. _

"_Stop staring at Austyn's ass."_

_I barely manage to suppress my involuntary smile. _Walks_ isn't a very good description of the way that Lisa Cuddy moves either. _Glides_, _struts_, or _sashays_ seems much more accurate, I think as her long determined strides easily keep pace with my much lazier confident ones._

_Lisa Cuddy is stunning with her soft raven curls, and her blue-grey eyes that can be light with laughter one moment, and hot with temper the next. She is brilliant and witty, cunning, and clever, and her mind is an irritatingly intriguing puzzle that I can't quite manage to solve. She is one of the few people in the world who manages to surprise me on a regular basis._

_I widen my eyes, and allow my mouth to drop open slightly. "Lisa," I gasp, my face the picture of mildly-offended surprise, "I can't believe you would accuse me ofsomething that blatant and crude" I gasp in mock horror, "I would_ never_ stare at Austyn's ass," I toss her words back at her._

_She simply stares at me, raising one perfectly-plucked eyebrow, as though just waiting for the punch line._

_Never one to disappoint, I suddenly grab her forearm and yank her close, placing my lips next to her ear before she has the time to twist away from me. "Yours is so much more enjoyable." I whisper huskily._

_She rolls her eyes, turning to place both hands on my chest and shove me away lightly, but not before I notice the barely perceptible shiver that shoots through her body as my lips brush her ear. I smirk. She pretends not to notice as she continues striding across the campus, quickening her stride slightly to catch up to Austyn who is now several yards ahead of us._

"_Stop discussing my ass," Austyn tosses the comment over her shoulder without bothering to glace back at us. "And get a room."_

"_We already used yours," I shoot back without missing a beat. "Might want to wash those sheets," I smirk._

_Austyn stops slowly and turns to face the two of us as we slow to a stop behind her. "You haven't slept together," after a moment of intestly scutrutinizing my face. One corner of her mouth twitches up into her infamous know-it-all, half-smile. The fact that her statement is true is admittedly annoying._

"_She's just mad that we didn't invite her," I stage whisper to Lisa, who merely rolls her eyes in response. _

_Austyn scrunches up her nose, but the smile doesn't leave her face. "You obviously have issues with that sort of thing, Greg." she says condescendingly, "Childhood insecurities stemming from embarrassing incidents in the boy's locker room can do that to a person."_

"_The chess team didn't have a locker room," I shoot back and both girls revert to their standard response to most of my comments: they simultaneously roll their eyes. _

"_We're going to be late," Lisa cuts in as Austyn opens her mouth to continue our sarcastic comment competition._

"_Lecture Schemcture," I reply, staring down at her chest, concealed today by a dark blue T-shirt. " I can think of a much more entertaining way to spend the afternoon," I continued, waggling my eyebrows suggestively. "I could probably hunt up some whipped cream and chocolate sauce."_

_Lisa rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her breasts. "Keep your perverted fantasies to yourself. I'm going to class." With that, she continues strutting down the sidewalk, balancing her books neatly. I can't pull my eyes away from the snug fit of her jeans and the way her hips sway mesmerizingly from side to side as she walks away._

"_Stop being as ass and tell her how you feel," Austyn says softly, her wind-chime voice suddenly serious. She lays a gentle hand on my arm and looks up at me through somber eyes the color of rich, melted chocolate. I open my mouth to make some crude comment, but for once my mind comes up empty._

_I can think of absolutely nothing to say._

_It doesn't really matter though, because Austyn is already gone, the elated bounce in her step annoyingly obvious as she jogs to catch up with her best friend. _

"House,"

I blink.

"What do you want to do?" Cuddy asks, staring at me from across her desk, concern swimming in her eyes, although I'm not sure whether it is for me, or for the memory of the best friend that she lost contact with years ago.

"Let's go," I say as I get to my feet and limp toward her office door. She hesitates for a brief moment, her eyes betraying her uncertainty as well as her struggle to hide it.

She grabs her coat, - a sleek black trench, sliding her arms into the sleeves quickly and hurriesto catch the door before it slams closed. Her rushing is unnecessary since, for once, I am already holding it open. She grabs her purse and quickly digs through it for her car keys. She sends me a tight-lipped smile as she passes.

"Thank you," she says softly as I allow the door to close behind me and follow the click clack of her heels across the tile floor of the clinic, both of us well aware that she isn't talking about holding the door.

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**Sorry that this chapter's a little short... but it seemed like i good place to end it. **

**Reviews make me happy =)**


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